


Brave and clever and true

by SoThisIsAThingIWrote



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: F/M, Fluff, nothing but fluff, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28940796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoThisIsAThingIWrote/pseuds/SoThisIsAThingIWrote
Summary: Vivi and Heather's bathroom is tiny. The white porcelain tub is, at best, half the size of the one in the Royal rooms back in Elfhame, and he can't fit without his knees poking out of the water. Perhaps a bit undignified for a king, but Cardan doesn't care. Not now, when it's deliciously warm and Jude's fingers are working themselves over his scalp, washing the iron out of his hair.Short Jurdan fluff set directly after How the King Of Elfhame Learned To Hate Stories.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 10
Kudos: 165





	Brave and clever and true

**Author's Note:**

> Because, like Cardan, we all deserve fluff sometimes.

The best place to sleep in the Royal Stables was with the horses. The riding toads, with their shiny skin, gave off little warmth, and they didn't care for grass or hay so their stalls were as cold as them. The deer and elk did care for grasses, but they didn't care to share it. More than once he'd awoken to the rude prodding of an antler or hoof. The horses though, the horses didn't mind a small faerie child curling up in a corner, making a bed of their dinner. Their soft lips mouthed at his hair and ears in familiar hellos when he fed them fruit snatched from the royal tables. Their gentle nickers and snorts lulled him to sleep. 

True, the hay was rough against his cheek, and it was never quite warm enough, but it was the best spot. His family, he tells himself, would agree that he was very clever to choose this spot. 

But so far they haven't been clever enough to find him. 

***

Vivi and Heather's bathroom is tiny. The white porcelain tub is, at best, half the size of the one in the Royal rooms back in Elfhame, and he can't fit without his knees poking out of the water. Perhaps a bit undignified for a king, but Cardan doesn't care. Not now, when it's deliciously warm and Jude's fingers are working themselves over his scalp, washing the iron out of his hair. 

Those fingers pause when there's a soft knock at the bathroom door. Vivi's voice, slightly muffled, comes through the damp air. Cardan elects to not pay attention to what she's saying in favour of turning his head and pressing a kiss to Jude's knee. A second kiss follows, slightly higher, and then a third, nosing at the hem of her grey cotton shorts. Perched on the edge of the tub behind, she has one strong leg to either side of him, keeping him firmly in place in the sudsy water. Not that he has any intention of going anywhere. He might issue a royal decree declaring he will never move from this spot. Let the future Aslogs and Glitens and Bryerns of the realm deal with their own problems, from now on the high court will be here, in this bathroom, and it will be naught but him and his wife and his wet fingers slyly trying to work their way up the underside of grey cotton. 

Jude's hand leaves his hair to cup his chin, tilting his head back so she can look down at him with a disapproving frown at his wandering hand. Cardan grins up at her. A wandering hand that she _hasn't_ , he notes, removed from her thigh. He inches the edge of the shorts a little higher. 

Jude snorts, and tips his head back down so she can pour water over the suds in his hair, one of her hands cupped protectively over the freshly bandaged wound on his shoulder. 

He'd heal faster in Elfhame, if only he could be trusted to remain upright for the entire journey there. As the room still vaguely swims unpleasantly around him even after the iron is washed away, Vivi is the one dispatched to the faerie isles with a message to the Living Council to have Aslog collected and Gliten summoned. 

Cardan is given a cup of yarrow tea and dispatched to the couch. 

Oak immediately plops down on the floor in front of the couch and holds up three slim boxes, each one a garish colour, with strange creatures popping out of small balls drawn on the front. Cardan doesn't know what to make of any of them, but Oak seems insistent on his input. Finally he points to the one with the small golden creature and Oak grins in absolute delight. 

"That's my favourite too!"

The slim boxes, it turns out, house those mortal moving stories - only these ones are made up entirely of drawings rather than real people. Cardan blinks as bright colours dance across the TV screen to fast paced music, not entirely sure if this isn't some strange effect of the residual iron his body is currently working out of his system. The blinks grow steadily longer as, washed and bandaged and full of healing tea, exhaustion finally begins to seep in.

Cardan's head is drooping when he feels Jude settle onto the other end of the couch, swinging her legs up and pressing her feet against his thigh. A moment later a hand curls around his arm, drawing him over and down, once again firmly in place between her knees, his head pillowed on her chest. 

And _oh_ , this is better than the warmest corner of any stall in the stables, better than any royal mattress and velvet coverlet. Better than lying in the night cool grass of Aslog's forest, dizzy with pain and relief. Waiting patiently for Jude, his Jude, brave and clever and true. 

Jude's fingers trace his ear before burying themselves in his hair, stroking softly. "Go to sleep," she murmurs, "I've got you." _I found you._

Cardan sleeps.


End file.
